


Split Second Decisions

by enemiestolovers



Category: Troy (2004)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death (Not main pairing), F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6195532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemiestolovers/pseuds/enemiestolovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Paris had not been there to bring down Achilles? Lovers reunite, and the downfall of a city brings new life...(Achilles/Briseis)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Troy was burning.

The ancient city which had withstood so much over countless ages had been captured at last by the invading Greeks. As one empire rose, another turned to ashes.

However, this was not what was going through the mind of the last living prince of Troy as he ran through the flaming city. In fact, the only thing he was focused on was the exact location of the passageway Hector had told him about.

_Hector..._

Paris clenched his fist involuntarily. In his younger years, he had been obsessed with escaping the long shadow cast by his older brother. If he could only outshine him, he had thought, at  _anything_ , then he would consider himself a success- and perhaps his father would too. So when he saw the opportunity to capture the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world, he had seized it eagerly.

_Senseless, thoughtless boy that I was._

The name Hector would be remembered for intense and undying devotion to a doomed city. Not only his battle prowess and love for his family, but his courage.  _Obviously too much of it for his own good._ Paris would always be thought of as the foolish boy whose love for one woman came at the cost of thousands of lives and the fall of a once-great city. It just may have been worth it though, if only-

No. He could not dwell on the past, not now. If he started he feared he wouldn't be able to stem the tide of regret.  _Now where's that gods-damned tunnel..._

Andromache and Astynax would be waiting for him, and if anything happened to them he would never forgive himself. Hector had made him promise to care for them if he should not return from his battle with Achilles, and Paris could not fail his brother in this, if nothing else. He felt new strength come into him, and he sprinted past the burning houses, past the crumbling ancient citadel, past the Trojan palace. Here, legs aching, he forced himself to pause and catch his breath. As he leaned on the base of the statue of Apollo that marked the entrance to the palace, chest heaving with effort, the wails of those either unable to get out or too stubbornly loyal to leave echoed in Paris's ears.

His home...

He couldn't stop himself. Every memory of his life in this palace came rushing back, vying for a place in the front of his mind...

_Running in childish delight from Hector and Deiphobus through the hallways, as they managed to once again escape their lessons to play._

_Looking out of his balcony at the moonlight reflected off the cold sea, wondering if his father's harsh words were motivated by love or disdain._

_Lying under the shade of the fig tree in the gardens, laughing at something Helen had said, using the opportunity to thread his fingers through her hair and pull her closer to him, then closer still-_

He jerked his head up.  _Enough._  Gods only knew where she was now, but she had made it very clear the last time they'd spoken that she regretted ever having come with him to Troy. Not that he could blame her- and that was the worst part. Yet he loved her, he'd loved her then and he loved her still, gods help him. He forced himself to let go of the statue and, giving the only home he had ever known one last look, he took a deep breath and kept running.

Doing his best to dodge the seemingly endless flaming debris-  _who knew this city was so flammable, Hector was right about the building codes needing improvement-_  he navigated through the winding alleys of the Market Quarter, heading for the eastern gate. Just as he had managed to convince himself that as long as he kept his pace no Greek in his right mind would do so much as raise a sword at him, he collided head-on with one of the only Greeks who would recognize him by his appearance.

Diomedes.

Paris groaned inwardly. But maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't recognize him.  _Please, whatever gods still favor Troy, don't let him recogni-_

The Greek's bloodshot eyes met his and lit up almost instantly.  _Fuck._

"Well well _well_!" he slurred. "Look what we have here! It's the man- no, make that the  _boy_ who started it all!" Judging from his speech patterns (and the stench of his breath), Paris gathered that Diomedes had been one of the Greeks who had managed to locate the expansive royal Trojan wine cellar.

He allowed himself a small mirthless laugh. But then-

"Tell me prince, where's your pretty little Spartan whore now?" Diomedes said, his words dripping with condescension. "I'm willing to bet Menelaus has run her through already, but if not, I truly envy whichever man gets her first."

"One more word and I'll cut your fucking tongue out."

Diomedes had the gall to laugh. "Oh, will you now? Wouldn't that be a pity, for I'm planning on using it to taste your wife's-"

Faster than he'd known was possible, Paris had drawn his sword and raised it above his head.

Diomedes had no chance, sober or otherwise.

With a primal yell, he brought his blade down and plunged it into the larger man's throat. Diomedes dropped to his knees, eyes open wide. As blood spurted from the wound, he slowly sank to the dirt and began to gasp, choking on his own bitter blood.

Paris kicked him in the gut.

"I warned you. Greek filth," he spat, and walked past him, relaxing his rigorous pace to let his fury subside.

He trudged on blindly, paying little heed to where his feet were taking him. After a few minutes of deep breathing his senses returned, and he stopped to assess his surroundings. He was fairly certain that to get to the exit passage he ought to turn left at that courtyard he had just passed...

He turned on his heel and was just beginning to inspect the clay street markers when something in the courtyard caught his eye. Paris idly glanced in that direction, and had just begun to resume his assessment when what he had seen registered in his brain.

He whipped his head back around and gaped, a single thought running through his mind-

_No._

It was Helen. Four men- Greeks by the look of them- surrounded her, the largest of whom had her up against a wall, laughing as she struggled to free herself. Her normally immaculate golden hair was in disarray, and the top half of her dress was torn nearly to shreds. Paris felt as though someone had punched him in the gut.

"STOP!" The shout ripped from his throat involuntarily; he gave no thought to the tactic he would take or the fact that he had just given away his position. He drew his sword, barely conscious of how skewed the situation was in their favor. "Don't touch her!"

All four men turned to face him, but they made no move to release her. Helen raised her head, and he could see that her makeup was smudged. "Paris?" Her eyes met his and filled with sheer horror. "This can't be- you should leave, I'm- I'm fine, really, just go, please-"

The man holding her against the wall shoved his hand against her mouth. "Mouthy bitch you got here Paris. You remember me? No? Didn't think so. Your bastard of a brother killed  _my_ brother, 'fore he got what was coming to him. We," he gestured to the other men, one of whom looked to be nocking an arrow, "recognized your little queen here, thought we'd teach her a bit of a lesson for spreading her legs for you and getting us all into this useless piece of shit war."

Paris tried to think quickly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, I don't think Menelaus would be too pleased when he hears-"

"You think I care, boy? I doubt he'll be feeling too gracious towards her;  _if_ he finds her." He turned back to Helen. "Now, where were we..."

He had no choice, he had to act now. Mustering all his strength he rushed headlong at the first man, managing to knock him to the ground. He turned to face the next, raising his sword-

A stinging pain pierced his flank. He whipped his head around and saw that the third man had managed to draw his bow, and was preparing another arrow. Helen let out a piercing scream. "Stop! Leave him be! I'll do anything, anything _-_ " The man holding suddenly her let her go, and shoved her to the side. "Y'know, I believe you. But today's your lucky day, I think I'll let you off easy, and let you watch." He moved toward Paris.

Paris shakily stepped forward to face him, realizing an instant too late that he had let the second man out of his sight. He felt a cold, heavy blunt object hit his head, and lights danced in front of his eyes. His attacker seized the moment to grab his arms, pinning them behind his back as he was forced to his knees. He winced as his wounded leg hit the ground.

Through the haze of pain, he could see Helen was frantically trying to grab the archer's bow, but she was quickly pulled off of him by the first man, who Paris clearly hadn't hit hard enough.

"I said you had to  _watch._  Hold her. How's this for an end worthy of a prince, hm? Wait 'till we tell Agamemnon." The leader gestured nonchalantly to the archer. "Shoot him."

He did. This time Paris saw the arrow sink into his stomach. A gasp escaped his lips, despite his efforts to face death as Hector would have, with honor. He thought suddenly of Andromache, of Astynax- were they awaiting him still? By risking himself had he doomed them, failed his brother  _again_ -

Another arrow, this time nearer his ribs. Helen was openly weeping now, struggling in the grasp of the Greek holding her. "Paris look at me, look at  _me-"_ Another- or was it two?- a pain in his neck- his thigh? His vision swam, he was losing count.

"You m-" he found it hard to speak, his mouth was wet, filled with something warm-  _blood, it must be, I've seen this happen-_ "Let her...you must promise to let her-"

"Is that all you can say? This bastard must have it bad. Don't you worry, we'll let her go, Whore or no, I'm not about to celebrate victory by killing the woman who's kept us here for ten years. We'll let her husband deal with her."

" _You're_  my husband Paris, you're the only one I chose; I love  _you,_ please- _"_ At this, Paris managed to raise his head- though it was so heavy, heavy- and look into the eyes of the woman he stole, married, fought for,  _loved,_ once more. He smiled, though he could not feel his face make the motion.

"I love you t-"

He was still smiling as the last arrow took him.

* * *

**Author's note:**  Chapter 2 will be up soon!

(apologies to any Paris fans, I kind of needed him out of the way for a later scene, and then this happened)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**_12 hours earlier_ **

Troy was rising.

Briseis, former priestess of Apollo and current talk of the palace, was not keen to follow its example. She groaned as the morning sun finally reached the point at which it shone directly into her bedchamber, and pulled the sheets over her head. The longer she stayed in here, the longer she could try to deny that she had just awoken from a dream featuring a certain Greek, who she spent many of her waking hours doing her best to keep out of her thoughts. But at night….

Her mouth crooked slightly as she allowed herself to indulge in the dream for a moment longer. Now that Achilles was gone-  _had left,_  she corrected herself coldly. Now that he had left, and she had been unceremoniously returned to her royal status in the city, she found herself wishing…not to be a prisoner again, not that exactly, but to see him again, be  _his_  again-

_Good gods, do you even hear yourself? And they call Helen melodramatic. He's not coming back, and you shouldn't want him to. You were a fool to think you were anything more to him than a warm body._

A slight tremor ran through her bottom lip, and she dug her nails into the palms of her once-delicate hands, now covered in calluses that hadn't had the time to soften again. Her self-pitying reveries had become unfortunately common these days, to her chagrin. She forced herself to pull back the covers and sit up, narrowing her eyes at the daylight, which seemed even brighter than before. She'd been behaving like a child lately, like some lovelorn girl and it was all his fucking fault-

This pointless train of thought, destined to come to an equally unhelpful conclusion, was interrupted by a sharp series of knocks on her chamber door. Briseis started, making a half-hearted attempt to run her fingers through the snarl of her sleep-tousled hair to make it slightly more presentable. "Who calls?"

In lieu of replying, the person on the other side simply opened the door, a move which would have greatly annoyed her had the Trojan queen- and Briseis's aunt- Hecuba not been the one to walk in. Briseis had always found her aunt rather grating, but the queen's attempts at 'helpful advice' had become near insufferable since her return. Hecuba breezed into the room, her overly rouged cheeks looking more garish than usual in the morning sunlight.

"Briseis! I would have expected you to be fully dressed by this hour." Briseis glanced down at her nightgown, which was small enough that it couldn't possibly be mistaken for a day dress. "Oh, I- well I was just about to-"

"No matter dear," the older woman interjected, her keen eyes noting the younger woman's bloodshot ones. "You've been crying again, haven't you?"

Briseis resisted the urge to audibly sigh. "No aunt, I actually slept quite ill last night-"

"Nonsense darling!" clucked Hecuba, her elegant grey eyebrows furrowing. "Not sleeping well  _indeed_. You simply haven't been the same since that brute of a Greek-" she flashed her a sympathetic look. "Well, I don't suppose my mentioning him will make you feel any better. But all that aside, you really don't have to do this anymore! I feel like you barely leave your room these days. He's gone now- they're all gone dear, and they aren't coming back. Isn't that enough to cheer you up?"

Briseis managed to plaster something she hoped resembled a smile to her face. "Of course, Aunt Hecuba. How silly of me to carry on like this! You're right of course, now that that Greek  _monster_ "- she winced slightly-"is gone, I've nothing to worry about."

"There, you see? You're feeling better already" smiled Hecuba. "I'll wait in the hallway until you're presentable, and then we have news to discuss."

As soon as her aunt left, Briseis rifled through her wardrobe for the least ostentatious chiton she could find. In her first years at court she had reveled in the attention she received as a princess of Troy, and her attire matched this, but now she found that she attracted more than enough whispers from the court without her adding to it with the bright colors and plunging necklines she once favored.

After dressing, she slipped from her sun-warmed room into the cool interior of the palace. Once they were both in the hallway, the queen glanced around as if to make sure they were truly alone before leaning in to whisper, "Now dear, have you heard?"

"About what?" replied Briseis uneasily.

"About what? _'_ you say. Sometimes I think I'm the only one paying any attention in this entire court. Why, about the horse! Though now that I think about it, I'd be more surprised if you did know, why should you? The only person you're talking to these days is Paris," she said dismissively. "But no matter, back to what I was saying. As the Greeks were preparing to leave, one of our spies- I can't recall his name - overheard Odysseus say that there was a prophecy: if the wooden horse they built to placate Minerva was brought into Troy, it would protect us from harm, as well as bring us the favor of Minerva herself! The spy also managed to hear the location where they were going to leave the horse. Naturally, once they left there was a unanimous decision for it to be brought to the city square. In fact it's there now, they brought it inside last night."

"Although," Hecuba hesitated, "the decision wasn't _completely_ unanimous. Helen, of all people, burst into the council meeting and started ranting about how we simply  _couldn't_  bring the horse in, she said it was because...well, who knows why? It was  _Helen,_ I'd be surprised if anyone was listening. We finally had to get the guards to escort her out, and even then we could hear her screeching outside the door. It was quite awful. I think she even tried to go and talk to Paris, but," she snorted, "as I'm sure you well know, he won't have anything to do with her! It would seem they've finally had one fight too many. About time if you ask me." Hecuba finished.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find Andromache and tell her the seating chart for the victory banquet tonight. I haven't seen her all morning either! She 's been in such a mood ever since-" the queen faltered, cleared her throat, and walked off, leaving Briseis to try and process this onslaught of information.

 _Why would the Greeks need to make an offering to Minerva in the first place? She's already their patron goddess! And why would she ever grant favor to Troy? And-_ here her face darkened-  _why would the Greeks, Odysseus specifically, discuss this "prophecy" out in the open? Achilles always said that important matters were only talked about in private..._

Suddenly, Briseis felt a hand grip her shoulder. Instinctively she jerked back, grabbed the person's forearm and had them pinned to the ground in an instant.

She had expected a man, but was caught off guard when she found herself staring into pair of startled looking blue eyes.

" _Helen_?"

* * *

A/N: No POV change for next chapter, it picks up where this one leaves off.


	3. Chapter 3

"Helen, oh gods, I'm so sorry!" Briseis managed to force the words out, tamping down her instinctive terror at being grabbed from behind. "I just-" She quickly released the other woman's arm, instead extending her hand to help her off the marble floor. "I know I told everyone I was alright after I came back from the camp, but it would seem that old habits die hard." She looked down at Helen's arm, still red where she'd grabbed it moments before. "Are  _you_ alright?"

The blonde nodded. "It's fine, really. I shouldn't have- I didn't think." Her face turned grave. "Briseis, listen to me, there's something you need to know, something-"

"Is this about that horse? Hecuba just told me what the council decided, and frankly it's nothing short of suspicious that-"

" _Briseis, listen,_ " Helen interrupted. "You're right, it's more than suspicious. The patron goddess of the Greeks wouldn't favor Troy, especially if her favorites had just lost the war to us, she's too proud. And that spy's story; I haven't been with the Greeks for a long time, but not so long that they'd grow foolish enough to openly discuss such matters. It has to be some sort of trap. And if it is, that means-"

Briseis's eyes widened. Helen didn't need to continue; they both understood the three unspoken words:

_They're still here._

_Which means... **he's**  still here. _She tried vainly to suppress the rush of hope that the second thought brought.  _Foolish girl, he's probably forgotten you already._

And yet, had he?

She allows herself to consider this, briefly; what seeing him again could mean. They called him a brute, a mindless, raging Greek- the view she herself had once held, before she saw what he was truly like. He had protected her, a mere slave in their camp, as though she were someone precious to him. He had offered her what she craved most of all-  _respect_ , an acknowledgement that she held value beyond her status as a priestess or Trojan royalty. Before he loved her, before she even cared for him at all, he had given her that.

She had nearly forgotten how it felt to be with him, the danger, the  _power_  that came with holding the heart of Achilles. Since she had returned, her life in the city had gone on as it always had. It was as if the entire royal palace was trying to pretend that an army wasn't encamped outside their walls. Once she'd made it clear that she no longer wished to dedicate herself solely to the service of the gods, the noble boys- yes, boys, she couldn't bring herself to think of them as men, not now- of high birth had gone right back to trying to court her, to win the favor of a princess of the royal house and advance their own status. They came to her in quiet corridors, at banquets, in the corners of every social event- smelling of perfume and hair oil, their hands smooth and soft and  _wrong_. She painted her face for them, flashed them a smile and blithely encouraged them, for what else was she to do now? Priam would ultimately dictate who she would marry, and what good would it do then to have offended her suitor out of spite?

But how could they try to compare, how could they hope to compare, to having the greatest warrior the world had ever known underneath her,  _inside_ her-

 _No, don't think of that, you can't have him anymore. Don't fool yourself._ She did her best to push away the heat that pooled low in her stomach, and shook her head. "Helen, if this is true, if the horse is really some sort of ruse and they're still nearby planning something, surely they must mean to do it soon? We've already fallen right into whatever they're planning when we brought that thing inside. Perhaps it's not too late, if we try and warn King Priam, surely he'll take heed-"

The other woman shook her head. "Believe me, I've tried. If they could put their hatred of me aside for one moment they would hear that I was speaking sense! But I fear it may already be too late."

A chill ran down Briseis's spine. "What do you mean?"

"This very morning I heard Cassandra pleading with Priam, confirming all that I suspected but with details that she surely couldn't possibly know- and he dismissed her outright, ordered her not to speak on the matter again. His own daughter! Last I heard, she was on her way out to the city walls to try and tell anyone who would listen that Troy was going to fall."

"I doubt she could find a single person who would agree with her; they're all too drunk off our 'victory' to think of anything else." Briseis muttered.

They both avoided the fact that no one, not even them, ever seemed to believe Cassandra about anything. Whenever the princess spoke her supposed prophecies it was like a golden fog crept into their minds, beautiful but so full of doubt, lies...

Helen shook her head. "That's why I came to warn you. I fear there may be nothing more we can do for the rest of them, they're too blind, and we have no definite proof. But I wanted you to know that if something does happen", she leaned in close then seemed to change her mind, taking a step back and motioning her into the nearest alcove. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. "There's a way out. Before he died, Hector told me of a passage on the west side of the city, near marker eighty-four. It leads to the shore, to a hidden cove, and there should be a boat there- if the Greeks haven't gotten to it by now."

Briseis's head was reeling. She felt as though she had barely gotten back to Troy, and now to hear that they could be at risk of destruction again, and due only to their own foolishness- "Who else knows of this?"

"Only myself, Andromache, Paris, and now you. Perhaps it will come to nothing, and I pray you'll never have to use it, but if anything goes wrong, you need to get there."

"And what of you?"

Helen smiled grimly. "Darling, if they get in here, there's not a thing in the world that can save me." She clasped Briseis's shoulder gently, and before the other woman could respond, turned away and was gone.

Briseis found herself lingering in the hallway as Helen's footsteps grew fainter, still trying to process what she had been told. The city being invaded was a possibility she had lived with for the duration of the war, no matter which side of the Trojan wall she'd been trapped on. And during her time with- she stopped herself- during her time as a prisoner of the Greeks, she had tried to resign herself to never seeing the remainder of her family or friends again. But the thought of leaving them to their fate to save herself _\- they wouldn't listen, it's already too late for them, but you, you can survive_ \- a voice inside her head whispered, but she forced it down. Nothing was proven, nothing had happened yet. Helen's intuition was one thing, but the future could be another, and she wouldn't waste time on things she couldn't change. She'd done enough of that already.

Briseis took a deep, slow breath, and continued walking down the corridor, doing her best to ignore the part of herself that knew that if the Greeks did invade, in the center of the monstrous horror and bloodshed would be the man she loved.

* * *

As it turned out, Cassandra was right.


End file.
